


Sweet Surrender

by surprisepink



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Aphrodite's Magical Lube Boon, Crying, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Size Kink, tongue kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surprisepink/pseuds/surprisepink
Summary: Laughter-loving Aphrodite offers blessings and curses alike. This, Theseus thinks, is both.(Or: Theseus gets hit by the horny boon and Asterius gives him a brotherly helping hand.)
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Theseus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 461
Collections: Hades Game Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	Sweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hanatamago](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanatamago/gifts).



Theseus does not take well to losing.

He is a great warrior and an even greater king, so he has not had much of a chance to get accustomed to loss. True, Asterius wins their sparring matches roughly half of the time, but those do not count—quite literally, neither of them keeps track. And even if they did, Asterius’ axe swings true and his heart is noble. Each match is well-fought, each of his wins well-deserved. To lose to him is an honor.

The daemon, though! The boy who calls himself Zagreus, who has charmed Asterius with his wiles and nearly seduced him away from Theseus, who Lord Hades himself has told Theseus to prevent from leaving, at any cost. He is an enemy in the truest sense, and to lose to him is unacceptable. 

As of late Theseus has lost and lost and _lost_ to that damned hellspawn, and he won’t be satisfied until he once again sees victory against him.

Asterius suggested that they change their techniques to better address the daemon’s erratic fighting style, and after some resistance, Theseus has come to see that he is correct. In the end, he can deny Asterius nothing, not with a friendship such as theirs, a bond stronger than diamonds.

However, Theseus has come up with an even better plan: instead of finding new techniques, simply refine the ones that already exist.

(Asterius sighed at the suggestion, but he did not disagree with it, which is more or less the same thing as an agreement when it comes from him.)

And so it is a fine day or night in Elysium indeed as they stand in the arena, practicing. The stands are empty now; soon, Theseus will blow the crowd away with his new skills, but for now, they must be refined in secret. The principle of the thing is simple, but there’s still a need to work on the execution.

The daemon is able to not only summon the gods, but also has them enchant his weapons; Theseus has noticed this in each of their fights, after Asterius pointed it out. It follows that Theseus—chosen and favored by the gods in a way that Zagreus can not even imagine—should be able to do the same thing. And so he works tirelessly to master such a technique, and will continue to do so until he sees success.

It should be easy; it is not.

The gods speak to him sometimes, though their messages are often hard to hear. _Shoot true_ , says Artemis, a goddess he’s always hoped to meet face to face; _best of luck against my nephew!_ says Zeus, which Theseus doesn’t think too hard about. Today he calls upon the aid of Aphrodite, who it appears also has a special message for him!

_You’ve been practicing for nine hours straight, King Theseus,_ she says, her voice like a melody, gentle and firm and seductive all at once.

Of course he has been practicing for nine hours straight! This is important!

He’s managed to enchant his spear once or twice, or at least given it a faint pink glow that matches its existing coloring nicely, though never for long enough to really test whether that leads to an increase in power. To a lesser man, it might be frustrating, but he has all the time in the world to figure this out, and so does Asterius!

(Asterius is not attempting to summon any gods for aid; he prefers not to, for they do not have a history of favoring him.)

“Aphrodite!” Theseus calls for what is probably the hundredth time, “I ask for your aid! Please bless my spear so that I may strike true against the daemon that threatens this realm!”

Faintly, a voice from far off in the heavens seems to say _will you give it a rest already?_

Before Theseus can react, the blessing of the beautiful and noble Aphrodite reaches him. He sees it, a bright glowing pink, and then he doesn’t—and at once there is an odd sensation in his chest, a burning heat deep within him.

This is a feeling he knows well. He felt it when he was barely a man, exchanging coin with women of ill repute; he felt it on the nights of each of his weddings, every one of his wives more striking than the last; and he feels it sometimes even now, when Asterius looks upon him with his gentle eyes and calls him _my king_.

The same heat fills him, only a thousand times more powerful than it has ever been before, and a thousand times more urgent.

Of course, one of Aphrodite’s greatest gifts to mankind is that of lust, and so it stands to reason that she should be able to cause such a stirring in his loins. This is all well and good—but now that her powers have stricken Theseus directly, the feeling is not quite pleasant. Truly, it is overpowering.

He wants to... he _wants_. It feels as though he _only_ wants, like nothing else matters except for taking, having.

Theseus glances at his partner. He is dead, of course, but he feels so _alive_.

Asterius stands only a few paces away, but now even that distance feels further than Theseus can stand, and he quickly crosses it. He is not in a fighting stance; in fact, before he even realizes it, he’s dropped his spear and his shield. Fighting seems so unimportant, and if the daemon crossed his path now he’d simply let him walk through.

All of his concerns—of battle, of training—seem so silly when in front of him stands Asterius in his splendor. Has he always been so tall, so broad? Have his muscles always swelled with such power? Surely they must have, but now Theseus sees it all in a new light. For countless years, he has been content to admire his bovine friend from afar. Now, all at once, this is not enough.

Asterius also drops his weapon as Theseus approaches him, so that he might catch Theseus when he falls into his arms. His dear, _dear_ friend looks down on him, concerned.

“Does something trouble you?” he asks.

Theseus wraps his arms around Asterius, breathes in, and smells sweat, fur, and skin. Asterius’ scent is _delicious_. “I am not troubled, dear friend,” Theseus answers. “I am not troubled at all. But come, let us take a break—for I wish to have you.”

Yes, yes, of course he wants Asterius, of course he _must have_ Asterius, or else he is liable to combust. He has never spoken such words out loud, but now they come so easily. He has cared for the Minotuar for so many years, and though the idea has _appeal_ , he has never chosen to express it with his body.

Asterius is his brother, his dearest friend, his most trusted advisor and companion. The feeling, Theseus knows, is mutual—he has caught Asterius sneaking glances at him when he thinks Theseus cannot see, has heard Asterius call his name in his sleep and awoken the next morning to find the sheets wet with Asterius’ shame. Always, it has seemed like the wrong time to express his feelings further than he already has.

Always, until today. He has asked Aphrodite for her blessing, and he has gained it—though not one that he was expecting.

Ah, well. He can’t say he dislikes this turn of events.

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” says Asterius. “King, you are not well.”

“On the contrary, I am as well as I have ever been in my life! And you, Asterius—I could make you _very_ well indeed.”

“The goddess Aphrodite. She has enchanted you, rather than your weapon. And now, you wish to... ah. Copulate.”

“I wish to copulate with _you_ ,” Theseus confirms. As he runs his hands down his partner’s chest, there’s a pleasant contrast between the surprising softness of his fur and the hard muscles that lie underneath. There’s something thrilling about it, though of course he has always known that Asterius is this way, and he aches to know just what he will find below Asterius’ belt.

And Asterius’ hesitation, while gentlemanly, is about to drive Theseus mad.

“I cannot accept.”

Surely, Theseus could find someone else to touch him, to help him take the edge off of this maddening fire burning inside of him. He _could_ , but—there is nobody else. Nobody who can satisfy him half as well as he knows Asterius can.

It pains him to pull away from Asterius, but it has to be done. Not to leave him, no—but to look Asterius in the eye, to watch him gulp as he runs his tongue across his bottom lip. “Can you agree to watch me?”

Theseus does not answer Asterius’ unspoken question: _watch you what?_ Instead, he forces himself to take a step back, than another. He reaches under his skirts to reveal his cock, already hard—though from the enchantment itself or from the feeling of Asterius’ skin against his, Theseus does not know.

He wishes so desperately for the hand stroking his manhood to be Asterius’ instead of his own, but having the Minotaur see him satisfy himself is the next best thing. With each thrust into it, Theseus groans perhaps more loudly than is strictly natural, for his audience’s pleasure. Is Asterius growing hard too, watching him? It is impossible to tell; his expressions are as challenging to read as ever, even though Theseus now knows him so well.

Soon, pleasure courses through his body as he reaches climax, but it is an oddly empty one. He is not nearly done; it will take much more to satisfy him. This too must be one of Aphrodite’s gifts, or perhaps a curse.

Asterius sees, of course. His eyes have not left Theseus for even a moment.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to join me?” Theseus asks, raising one eyebrow. His tone is meant to be seductive, but his voice cracks slightly.

“I want— That is, I see that you are troubled.” says Asterius, and he stops himself there. Hesitating, gauging Theseus’ response. Giving him time to deny, to reject.

“Go on.”

“I would like to satisfy you.”

“Why, Asterius! Finally you are honest.”

It’s a pleasing turn of events indeed. Of course Asterius wants him, who would _not_ , and yet a part of Theseus had been concerned that something about this situation, or about _him_ , is not to the Minotaur’s tastes.

But: so many years ago, Asterius had been this way when Theseus so much as touched him, had flinched at the mere application of horn paint and braiding of laurels in his mane. They are used to that, now. His hesitation is again not discomfort, simply his natural reaction to something unfamiliar.

Theseus approaches him once again, and this time Asterius seems unable to resist him. He allows Theseus to take his hand, thread their fingers together, and even that simple gesture feels so very _right_. Though the boon has not reached him, and though Theseus has held his hand like this a thousand times before, things are different now. Theseus may have wanted before; now he _needs_.

“Our wills are the same, though not our reasons. But I would be honored to spend time with you, if only until this curse wanes,” Asterius says.

It is only natural that they desire the same thing. They are partners! Still, Theseus is pleased by his words, and he squeezes Asterius’ hand with a tightness that would bring most men to tears.

“Have you been with a man before, or do I have the honor of being your first?”

“I have not, King,” Asterius replies. “Never with anyone.”

He can’t be too shocked about it, since Asterius was imprisoned for the better part of his life, and now he spends most of his time in Elysium by Theseus’ side. Still, he is a glorious example of masculinity, and it’s hard to imagine that there aren’t other shades lining up to seduce him the moment Theseus turns his back.

Perhaps there are, and Asterius has turned each of them away, waiting patiently for his king. The thought of it makes Theseus shiver with anticipation and delight alike.

“Then you’ve been waiting for me all this time, my friend?”

Asterius’ voice drops to a whisper. “I have.”

It’s all Theseus needs to hear. His own body hums with desire, and Asterius has been longing for him in the same way. Why, then, should there be any reason to hesitate? The bonds of brotherhood would not weaken if they made love. On the contrary, though this new act they will be able to reinforce their devotion, increasing it tenfold!

It’s impossible to reach his arms fully around Asterius as he moves to unfasten his belt, so he ends up flush against him, his face pressed into his broad chest. It’s warm and welcoming, and even the feeling of Asterius’ body against his own takes some of the edge off of his painful arousal. He quickly moves onto the rest of the Minotaur’s clothing, pleased to see the growing bulge beneath.

There is no shame in admiring Asterius. His body holds great strength and gentleness alike; Theseus has seen him destroy their opponents in the arena completely and then, not an hour later, allow butterflies to take respite on his horns. It is a body crafted by the gods, in its own way, and Theseus longs to worship at its altar.

“I could spend countless hours admiring you,” says Theseus, “but today we haven’t the time. I _must_ have you, and quickly, or else I am liable to explode.”

“We can’t have that,” Asterius murmurs. “Will you guide me, then? Show me what you long for?”

“I will indeed! I know what I enjoy, and I know that you are more than capable of providing it.

When he kisses Asterius, their mouths don’t fit together quite right, but Asterius isn’t allowed any opportunity to apologize. Theseus _will_ be taken by him, here and now. With Aphrodite’s gift still pulsing through his veins, nothing matters but that. Determined, he licks into Asterius’ mouth, and gets a low groan in return.

Asterius has always been a fast learner. Now, too, he quickly understands the meaning behind Theseus’ gesture. He returns it, sliding his tongue past Theseus’ lips and teeth. His tongue is thicker than Theseus’ own, and far longer. More than a man ought to be able to take—which to Theseus is not an impediment but a challenge. Asterius fills his mouth so completely like this. Where else might he be able to fill him in the same way?

He almost chokes around it as Asterius pushes deeper, though the invasion is more pleasure than pain. Then, at the sound of Theseus’ gagging, Asterius begins to pull back. Theseus thinks to tell him _no, continue, please_ but that would require pulling away, and the thought of _that_ is unthinkable. Asterius is leaning over, leaning into him so that they might kiss, and so before he is able to stop, Theseus takes the opportunity to grab him by the horns and pull him back in.

He can’t wrap his hands fully around the base of the horns, and the mere thought of it makes Theseus’ body hum with delight. Once, in the darkness of the labyrinth, Asterius’ size had made his stomach drop in fear; now, it flips for a very different reason.

He allows himself to become limp in Asterius’ arms, his body only supported by the Minotaur’s strength and his own iron-tight grip on the horns. It is as though the boon has drained all the rest of the strength from his body. He is at Asterius’ mercy, though he knows that his partner would never hurt him—unless, perhaps, he asked politely.

Theseus thinks of asking for it. Asterius’ member presses against his thigh, massive as the rest of him. Already, his body feels loose and willing, almost as though he’s already been fucked. He will, he knows, have to make a special offering to Aphrodite after they are through.

When Theseus finally pulls away from Asterius it is almost painful, but a moment of pain is worth tolerating for the pleasure that is to come. His mind is growing fuzzy now, and everything around him is beginning to blur; he can think only of Asterius, and of the ways he’ll be able to bring him bliss.

Theseus is glad now that he prefers to fight near the stands, for it is only a short distance to the wall, and it is easy to guide Asterius to it. There is something new in his partner’s eyes, and when he flicks his tongue out to lick his lips, Theseus realizes why: the tongue glows with a slight pink, Aphrodite no doubt at work yet again. How powerful she is, and how terrifying, with her ability to provide a blessing such as this, one that can _spread_!

“I feel odd,” Asterius confirms a moment later.

“Do you feel it, too, Asterius? The gifts of the goddess? Come, then, and we can satisfy your urges as well.”

Theseus bends over, bracing himself on the wall and exposing himself for Asterius to admire. He’s never been much for wearing any more clothing than is strictly necessary, and now his short skirts provide easy access to his bare behind. From behind him he hears a sharp intake of breath, which he rewards with a wiggle of his behind, fine as any marble.

“Lovely,” Asterius murmurs.

“Oh, look all you want, but touch me too!” Theseus says. He almost whines it, really. “It is not the time to be polite! Do with me what you wish, as long as it’s _now_.”

Asterius indulges him quickly, thank the gods. He strokes down Theseus’ spine and the small of his back with one finger, and Theseus shivers with delight at the touch, eager for more. It is evidently a satisfactory response, and he hears the thud-thud of Asterius getting down on his knees. It is a familiar sound from when they wrestle; now, Theseus wonders why they have not been doing _this_ instead.

The arena is empty, but still Theseus feels so very exposed when Asterius cups his cheeks, one in each hand, and spreads them apart to better access his eager hole. He expects to be touched; what is surprising is that it is not Asterius’ fingers but his tongue.

It’s an odd feeling, a tongue prodding against him like this, but Theseus hasn’t a single reason to focus on the oddness when even the gentle wet brush of it is enough to make him shudder with delight. He does not need to ask for Asterius to continue; the Minotaur does it on his own. Slowly, his tongue enters Theseus, and Theseus rocks his hips, trying to take more of it.

Even the smallest bit of Asterius inside of him is so satisfying, and he aches to be filled even more, and even more _quickly_. It’s as though there is a vast emptiness inside of him, one that only Asterius can fill. And he does; deeper and deeper until Theseus feels like he might not be able to take any more. Just then, when Theseus is about to reach that breaking point, Asterius draws back—and then deeper once more, thrusting into him again and again.

It’s a sensation like he’s never had before, warm and wet and so _filling_ , and though his cock lies neglected he does not even think of asking for it to be touched. Why bother with it, when Asterius can open him up like this and fuck him so thoroughly with only his tongue? He rocks back onto that tongue, letting himself be skewered by it, striving to take as much as possible.

He comes quickly after that—how can he not, so full as he is, so _complete_ with Asterius deep inside of him. It’s like thunder white-hot coursing through him, shaking him to his core. As in all things, Asterius is a natural; it is as though his body is made to pleasure Theseus, and as though Theseus exists only to be pleasured in this way.

Theseus has still not tired. It feels as though his energy is endless, as is his lust. It is Aphrodite’s doing, surely—and yet he thinks he’d be the same way even without the boon, for how well Asterius is pleasuring him. Now that he’s had Asterius like this, he thinks that nobody else will be able to satisfy him ever again.

Asterius’ cock will ruin him even more, if he is willing to indulge Theseus with it. As the Minotaur’s tongue withdraws from his hole, now dripping with his saliva, the emptiness within him returns. He wants— _needs_ —to be ruined in that way. In life, the thought of being the receptive partner had been humiliating; now, he can think of nothing else but receiving.

Asterius does not have to ask Theseus what he wants. He does not, most of the time; Theseus _tells_ him regardless. Even now, drunk with sex, Theseus cannot be silent, nor does he wish to be.

“More, Asterius,” he moans, glad that nobody is here to hear his wanton cries as they echo across the arena’s walls. They might be embarrassing, if they were not painfully sincere. “Inside of me again, please.”

Later, perhaps, they might perform for a crowd, the same audience who cheers at their matches instead watching a different clash of weapons. They could all watch him spread apart, opened up, filled to the brim with Asterius’ manhood. They could watch him come undone at Asterius’ touch, again and again.

He would be the envy of all of Elysium then, having Asterius for himself for all to see. What a thrill it would be, to be marked as Asterius’ own for the rest of his afterlife. Perhaps the audience would enjoy them so much that it would be more rewarding to continue fucking each day instead of fighting, day in and day out until all of Theseus’ existence is dedicated to being nothing but his partner’s cocksleeve. Perhaps Asterius could leave him there after he was done, no longer useful for fighting, to be used by others after him.

One thing at a time. For today, their lovemaking is private.

Asterius does not hesitate to continue. There is a glint in his eye that makes Theseus’ stomach flip and his groins stir, though whether that an effect of the boon or Theseus has merely triggered some passion from within him, he cannot say. Either way, his heavy cock lies neglected between his legs, even larger erect than Theseus had imagined it might be.

“You are massive, my friend. Won’t you allow me to relieve you?” Theseus says. His partner, understanding, takes Theseus in his hands, and lifts them so that they are face to face. It is effortless for him, and Theseus sinks into him gladly, wraps his legs around Asterius’ wide waist.

“I would enjoy it,” replies Asterius. “I would enjoy _you_ , if you would allow it.”

“If you do not enjoy me immediately I will beg until you do,” Theseus murmurs, placing soft kisses against Asterius’ neck.

A lesser man might be intimidated by his sheer size, and indeed, even Theseus’ first inclination under different circumstances might be to take Asterius in his hand and his mouth and please him that way. But he’s never been one to give in, and that’s twice as true now that there’s still a throbbing between his own legs, an emptiness deep within him. It feels as though his dead heart is beating heavy in his ears now; it is, Theseus knows, not from nerves but pure, unfiltered excitement.

He had once thought Asterius some great beast to conquer. Now, Theseus thinks, it is Asterius who ought to do the conquering.

He has felt the strength of Asterius’ body many times before in the arena. A subtle fighting style has never suited him; Asterius strikes are slow but rough. He is a ferocious warrior, and there have been many times that he has gotten the best of Theseus, here in Elysium.

This is how Asterius fucks him, too. With Theseus’ body in his grasp, fully at his mercy, he’s able to thrust into him all at once, stretching him open with the massive manhood, just as Theseus so desperately craves. It’s all that Theseus had imagined: like he’s being split in two, and at the same time like he is finally, _finally_ complete in a way that he never has been before.

Asterius lets out a grunt when he bottoms out. Is this a sound that Theseus once feared, so long, long ago? Now it is the sound of his dear friend’s pleasure—and thus, of Theseus’ own pleasure. They are one and the same.

“My king,” Asterius moans, in between gasps, “You are so— so very tight, and yet so open for me, so _ready_. Have you always—?”

So driven mad by Theseus he is that it’s hard for Asterius to find the words. He is like this, sometimes; Theseus is used to doing the talking.

Now, too, Theseus is all too happy to speak. It’s all he can do; Asterius’ firm grip makes it impossible for him to move, and even a simple roll of his hips is impossible. “Always, always,” he murmurs, “So long, though I never— ah, _gods_ , Asterius, you’re so _thick_ , you fill me up so well.”

He has been with men before, but never in this way. It would be shameful to be like this, _receiving_ , and yet Theseus’ body is so obedient now, and takes Asterius’ cock so naturally. 

Theseus’ feet are far from finding ground, but in Asterius’ arms, he feels safe, secure. It takes Asterius a single hand, wrapped around the waist, for him to hold Theseus tightly, to pull him from his cock and thrust him back on, again and again. It’s as though Theseus is being _used_ , for Asterius’ pleasure alone—and yet it is the using that brings the most unfathomable bliss.

Theseus cries out with each thrust until it seems as though he’s beginning to grow hoarse. He’ll gladly lose his voice for this. How long has it been, since Asterius took him in his arms? Time moves oddly in Elysium, but it seems like it’s been hours, days—an eternity, maybe. He’ll happily stay here an eternity more.

The waves of bliss in his body grow until he finally reaches another climax and Asterius fucks him through it, not stopping his relentless assault for even a moment as Theseus cries out from the pleasure even louder than before. It wrings out all the rest of his energy, and he falls against Asterius’ chest, limp in his arms. 

Still, Asterius does not cease, and Theseus would not dream of asking him to. Though he’s barely able to react now, exhausted as he is, he’s happy to be used in this way for his friend’s sake. Asterius deserves all of him, whenever he wants, for as long as he wants. They are, after all, the closest of partners. As Theseus would die for Asterius, so too will he gladly die for Asterius’ pleasure.

...he means this metaphorically, but at this rate, it does seem possible he will die. Something stirs within him at the thought of being fucked like that, so long and hard that he’s sent back to the Pool of Styx. Though his body is too spent to truly react to it, it’s a nice thought, one that comes ever closer with each time Asterius drives into his body, again and again.

Theseus has come so many times now that it finally seems like there’s nothing left, and now it’s pain more than pleasure. Tears are welling up in his eyes now, he can feel them moistening his eyelashes, his cheeks. It’s all so, so much: the stimulation, the feeling of Asterius’ cock still thick inside of him, still rock hard. The _satisfaction_ of it, of having so desperately needed to be fucked and to have Asterius so thoroughly debase him in just the way he had longed for.

He had longed for it for half of an eternity. Faintly, he recalls Asterius saying that he had longed for it too. Gods, why had they not done this before? When this is over, they’ll never be able to go back to what they once were. They’ll never want to.

Theseus feels Asterius’ hot breath on his neck get faster before he cries out, and when he does cry out it’s no language but rather a guttural scream. Theseus can recall that sound from a lifetime ago, before they had become partners. Then, too, Asterius would scream like this during moments of passion, albeit ones in the midst of combat. They’ve come so far from that time, when they were only rivals.

The thought of it makes Theseus weep into Asterius’ chest.

He can feel come dripping from his abused hole as Asterius pulls him from his cock. The emptiness feels odd, almost incomprehensible, and he has half a mind to ask the Minotaur to put him back, foolish as that would be. He thinks to thank Asterius, at least, but when he opens his mouth no words can come from it and it is dry, parched.

“Are you crying?” Asterius asks, concerned. He is so, so kind and Theseus cannot answer his kindness, only wrap his arms around Asterius’ neck weakly and fail to prevent himself from fading away.

Theseus wakes up among pillows, silken against his bare skin. There’s a sweet scent in the air, one that he recognizes as an incense of Elysium, not the House of Hades. For a moment, he had truly thought that he was about to die; now, as his eyes flit open, it’s clear that he’s only fainted.

It’s hard to move and almost impossible to sit up, sore as he is, but he’s been through harder battles than most men could even dream of. Sex? That is nothing!

As he examines his body, he notices a series of bruises blooming on his skin, right where he’d been gripped the longest and hardest. It’s something that in the paradise of Elysium he could find a way to heal, if he wished for it. He does not wish for it.

Beside him is Asterius, who thrusts a goblet at him the very moment he notices he’s awake. In it is nothing but water.

Theseus frowns. It takes a moment for him to find the words, but he does manage to speak.

“The Lethe?” he asks.

“No,” replies Asterius. “Though if you prefer, I would be happy to—”

“Absolutely not.” Theseus has never wished to forget even his most painful memories; why, then, would he ever want to forget such bliss? Simply because it was _embarrassing_? “Aphrodite has overtaken us all, at one time or another. It is nothing to forget, only to learn from.”

“Ah.”

Asterius is often quiet around him, only speaking as much as he needs. This time, though, it seems more likely that he’s become shy in the face of such an unexpected series of events.

Unexpected, Theseus thinks, but it has been a long time coming. He takes Asterius’ hand, only able to wrap his own hand around three large fingers.

“That technique is one I would like to perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on my [fic twitter](https://twitter.com/surprisepink_) or my [regular twitter](https://twitter.com/seraphknights)!


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